


A Minor Mimicry of Matrimony

by yamcasserole



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Fake Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7709989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamcasserole/pseuds/yamcasserole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a variety of reactions when Rudyard broke the news. Antigone was at a loss for words in her disbelief, communicating through incredulous syllables and exasperated looks. Georgie just gave a knowing smile, which Rudyard found confusing and vaguely unsettling. And Chapman... well, he was there, too. Which was completely irrelevant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A (Business) Proposal

     "Rudyard, please. You simply can't continue like this. I know you think-"

     "Get out, Chapman," Rudyard interjected from inside a closed casket, his voice slightly muffled. "Go back to your sorry excuse for a funeral parlour and make some coffee or something." Chapman rested a hand on top of the casket, gritting his teeth in frustration. 

     "Rudyard, if you would just listen-"

     "Go away."

     "Listen, I'm only suggesting that you-"

     "Chapman,  _I_ am suggesting that you leave." Chapman tugged halfheartedly at the lid of the casket, which Rudyard was steadfastly holding shut. 

     "Please just hear me out-"

     "Are you really trying to tell me how to run my own business?"

     "Of course not. I'm just saying-"

     "Do you really think that  _you_ are qualified to tell me-"

     "That's not what I said-" Rudyard flung open the casket, knocking Chapman off balance, and sat up, staring defiantly at his rival.

     "Now see here, Chapman-" before he could finish his thought, the door of Funn Funerals opened and a short, elderly woman walked in, stopping in her tracks when she saw the two men almost nose-to-nose, red in the face, one of them sitting in a casket. 

     "Am I interrupting something?" she asked cautiously, preparing to back out the door. Rudyard vaulted out of the casket with surprising grace, narrowly avoiding kicking Chapman, who stepped out of the way just in time.

     "Not at all, ma'am. May I just say thank you for choosing Funn Funerals, and would you care to look at some of our floral displays, we do offer an excellent-"

     "That funeral parlour across the square, is it closed? I wanted to book a service with them, but there was no one there. I thought it was quite a shame; I've heard so many good things about Chapman's,"  the woman interrupted. Rudyard blanched, looking as though the wind had been knocked out of him. 

     "They're closed. Incredibly out of business," he said quickly, before Chapman had the chance to get a word in edgewise. The woman looked slightly disappointed, but merely shrugged. 

     "Well, I need a funeral one way or another. So, young man, you were going to show me some flowers?" Chapman, sensing an opportunity, stepped forward to stand between Rudyard and his potential customer. 

     "Ma'am, I think you ought to know-"

     " _Not now, Chapman,"_ Rudyard hissed, elbowing him out of the way. The woman frowned. 

     "Chapman? As in Chapman's Funerals?"

     "Yes!" Chapman said hurriedly. "That's me."

     "But this fellow said it was closed."

     Chapman gave Rudyard a smug glance. "See, Rudyard? You weren't about to get away with-"

     "Are you married?"

     "I beg your pardon?"

     "Married. You tied the knot and decided to combine your businesses? I must say, that is absolutely adorable."

     "Oh, we're n-"

     "Married. Yes. That's us. We're very... married," Rudyard interrupted, forcing a broad smile onto his face while discreetly kicking Chapman in the shins to keep him from saying anything to the contrary. "Three years this... um, November. Now, I do believe we have a funeral to plan, Ms...?"

     "Williams. Now, I was thinking of a smaller gathering, and perhaps..." Rudyard quickly guided Ms. Williams over to the flowers, leaving behind Chapman, who looked as though he were still trying to figure out what had just happened.

   

      Ms. Williams spent half an hour discussing preliminary funeral plans with Rudyard, and by the time they were done, Chapman had collected his thoughts well enough to give Rudyard a piece of his mind. The second Ms. Williams left, Chapman pounced.

    "What was that?" he demanded, cornering Rudyard as he tried to discreetly slip into the mortuary. Rudyard glanced around nervously, looking for another escape route, but there was none to be found. 

     "Well, it would appear that my client thinks we're married."

     "Why."

     "Well, I couldn't have her going to you for a funeral, now, could I? You certainly don't need any more business than you've already got!"

     "For god's sake, Rudyard-"

     "It's unfair and you know it!"

     "Rudyard, I'm not trying to tell you what is and isn't fair, although I think the people of Piffling are perfectly within their rights to go to whichever funeral parlour they please-" ("You're luring them in with the chocolate fountain," muttered Rudyard), "-but that's not relevant right now. What I'm trying to understand right now is why you let your new client think we were married."

     "Not all of us handle pressure well, Chapman!"

     "We don't know when she's going to die. She looked pretty healthy to me, and we can't just have people thinking we're married for an indefinite amount of time. You either need to tell her the truth, or- or  _pretend to be married_ for god knows how long, and I think we both know which option you'd prefer, so just own up now. I'll even cut you a share of my profits after her funeral."

     "It'll be fine. We'll just keep up the charade until she kicks the bucket."

     "Or you could come clean," Chapman suggested incredulously. 

     "I'm not losing another customer, Chapman," snapped Rudyard. "We'll pretend to be married for however long it takes."

     "And do I get any say in this?"

     "No. This is really all your fault, if you think about it."

     Chapman took a carefully measured breath. "How exactly is this my fault? I certainly didn't lie to an old woman about our marital status."

     "I've been driven to this by your infernal business practices. If you hadn't...  _been nice to people,_ this never would have happened." Rudyard glared at Chapman, who stared exasperatedly back at him.

     "You do realize you can't force me to pretend to be married to you, right?" This gave Rudyard pause. Admittedly, he hadn't thought that far ahead. 

     "Well, will you do it?"

     Chapman pulled over a nearby chair and sat down, resting his arms on his knees, his demeanor becoming suddenly businesslike. "I'm willing to negotiate. Split the profits 50-50?"

     "No way. 80-20."

     "55-45."

     "60-40. And I get the larger share, it's my funeral home."

     "It's a deal." Chapman got up and shook hands with Rudyard, who felt very flustered all of a sudden. Obviously because of his victory, he thought as he watched Chapman walk back across the square. It felt good to finally win at something.


	2. Coffins and Cohabitation

     Rudyard was woken the next morning by a very irritated Antigone, who stormed into his bedroom at a quarter past five and furiously shook him awake. Rudyard could vaguely hear her saying something, and as he woke up, the words came into focus. 

     "-halfway through draining a corpse, probably a huge puddle in the mortuary now, and of course  _I_ have to deal with this because I'm the only one who wakes up at a reasonable hour!"

     "Your sleep schedule... 's worse than... than a... terrible," Rudyard muttered sluggishly, rolling over and burrowing under the blankets. Antigone snatched them away, fuming. 

     "Well, you're up now. Go deal with him, this isn't my problem."

     Rudyard, suddenly jolted out of his drowsiness, sat up and looked at Antigone with a vague sense of dread. "Him who?"

     "Were you listening to me at all? Chapman. He's at the door and won't go away. I'm going to clean up my mortuary." She stomped out of the room, Rudyard scrambling to follow her.

     Sure enough, Eric Chapman was standing in front of the window of Funn Funerals, looking annoyingly cheerful despite the early hour. Rudyard flung open the door, scowling.

     "What do you want? Don't you know it's rude to loiter outside people's homes at five in the morning?"

     "Good morning to you too, Rudyard. I really am sorry for dropping by so early, but we need to discuss-"

     "We open at eight. Come back then," Rudyard said dismissively, starting to close the door. Chapman stuck out his foot and pushed the door open again.

     "Look, I was thinking, and I realized it would look suspicious if we were 'married' and I lived in a separate, not to mention supposedly closed, funeral home," Chapman said frankly.

     Rudyard's eyes widened in horror. "No. You can't live here. Absolutely not." He noticed for the first time that Chapman had a rather large bag with him. "I'm afraid we simply don't have room."

     "I brought a coffee machine," Chapman sang, fumbling through his bag and pulling out a top-of-the-line appliance. Rudyard grimaced, faltered in the doorway, and finally stepped back to allow Chapman to come in.

     "Make some coffee and pick a casket to sleep in. Don't make a mess, don't be a nuisance, and don't touch anything."

     As Chapman was selecting a casket, Antigone emerged from the mortuary, wringing embalming fluid from her dress. "Did you get him to leave?" she asked Rudyard as she headed to the stairs. Rudyard hesitated a moment before following her.

     "Actually, um, not exactly."

     Antigone stopped in her tracks halfway up the stairs and slowly turned to face Rudyard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

     Rudyard fidgeted uncomfortably. "It's a long story." Antigone raised her eyebrows. "Well, um, you see, there was this customer who thought we were married, so now we have to pretend to be married until she dies."

     "Don't tell jokes, Rudyard. It doesn't suit you."

     "I wish I were joking, but unfortunately I'm dead serious. We have a customer who thinks that Chapman and I are married, and we've got to make sure she believes that until she dies so that we can provide the funeral."

     Antigone closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, scowling when she saw Rudyard still standing at the base of the stairs. "So you mean to tell me- and this isn't just some odd formaldehyde-induced nightmare- I can't believe- why would you-  _Christ,_ Rudyard!" She gave one last exasperated sigh and disappeared upstairs, grumbling under her breath.

     "Well, that could've gone worse," Rudyard muttered as he returned to the lobby.

     "I would apologize for causing tension in your family, but this is really all your fault," Chapman said. He had apparently finished unpacking, and was sitting in his casket reading a magazine. Rudyard chose to ignore him in favor of greeting Georgie, who had just entered the shop.

     "You're late. We've got a client who wants a maple coffin. Go make it."

     Georgie wasn't listening. Something had caught her eye, and it soon became apparent what it was. She made a beeline towards the coffee machine, a gleeful grin on her face. "We've got the coffee machine? Congratulations, Rudyard! That's- I can't believe you actually did it!" 

     Rudyard glanced nervously back at Chapman, who looked questioningly back at him. Rudyard had a brief inkling that he should somehow get Georgie to stop talking, but his realization came a moment too late.

     "Chapman's going to be livid when-"

     "Georgie no-"

     "-finds out you stole his coffee machine!" Georgie finished triumphantly, turning to face Rudyard. Her smug smile faded as she saw Chapman sitting in a coffin, wearing an expression of disbelief.

     "You were going to steal my coffee machine?" he asked in a wounded voice.

     "Oh... Hey, Eric. Didn't see you there... in that coffin. What are you doing here?"

     "Ask him," Chapman snorted, gesturing to Rudyard, who grimaced and sighed. 

     "Chapman will be living here for an indeterminate length of time."

     "Oh, god. You didn't burn down his funeral home, did you?"

     "Of course not!" Rudyard exclaimed, affronted. "You don't think I'd commit arson, do you?" Georgie gave a noncommittal shrug. "Well, in any case," Rudyard continued, "we have a client and Chapman will be getting a cut of the profit."

     "But why-"

     "Wehavetopretendtobemarriedbecausethecustomerthinkswe'remarriedsoChapmanhastostayhereuntilshedies."

     "You're kidding," Georgie said flatly. When Rudyard's expression stayed grave, she looked at Chapman, trying to gauge whether this was simply an elaborate prank. Chapman shrugged apologetically. 

     "It was his fault in the first place."

     "Wait," Georgie said, suppressing a laugh, "this was  _your_ idea, Rudyard?"

     "I didn't have any better options," Rudyard said defensively.

     Georgie raised her eyebrows, smiling at Rudyard as though they were sharing some inside joke. Rudyard frowned, confused. 

     "What?"

     Georgie just grinned.

     "What's so funny?" Rudyard looked back at Chapman inquiringly to see if he understood what Georgie meant. Chapman looked as puzzled as Rudyard felt. Rudyard turned to face Georgie again, only to find that she had left. "Oh, honestly- well, isn't that just typical. Why would she do that? I don't see what was so funny. This is a serious business matter, after all. You know," he added as an afterthought as he walked away to begin his work for the day, "sometimes I feel that I'm out of touch with humor these days."

 

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop with the alliteration I'm so sorry I don't know why I'm doing this I really don't like alliteration that much but it makes for easy titles. (And since I foolishly went and named the first chapter, I need to follow through with the rest of them because I've built my metaphorical coffin and now I have to lay in it).

**Author's Note:**

> Did someone say predictable, overused tropes? I did I love predictable overused tropes. The fake marriage fic no one asked for feat. an alliterative title I made up at the last second and just posted bc thinking of titles is the Worst


End file.
